


Hunting

by Lilium125



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Miami, Police, Sex, Teasing, blowjob, cop, criminal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:28:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26373469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilium125/pseuds/Lilium125
Summary: « Don't move! », Rick snarled, loading his gun. Miami took a sip, challenging him with his eyes.« Do you want to arrest me, officer? Do you want to arrest the person who called you? I did the tip. Want a sip? », he handed him the glass he had just drunk from, but Rick had remained motionless on the spot, incredulous. Was it really he who had called them?« Why? », he asked, unable to hold back that question. Was it possible that Miami had taken the side of the police? He couldn't believe it, it was absurd.« Because, obviously, the deal didn't suit me », Miami put down the glass that Rick hadn't taken and lit a cigarette, totally at ease in that situation. Rick shivered with rage. Was that a confession?
Relationships: Miami Rick (Pocket Mortys)/Rookie Cop Rick (Rick and Morty)
Kudos: 8





	Hunting

_He pinned his badge to his chest, looking at himself in the mirror. It was his first day of service after graduating from the Military Academy with honors, earning him a position as a Citadel cop. He looked proudly one last time before closing the locker, looking at his watch again. He was early, but he didn't care. He returned to pay attention to his new colleague, cursing himself for not listening to what he was saying._

_« … and he came out under bail, now we don't even try to arrest him anymore »._

_« Who? »._

_The colleague glared at him, realizing he had not been listened to. He buttoned up his blue police uniform, taking a little while before answering, as if out of spite._

_« Miami, who else? »._

_Rick laughed as he reached down to tie his black boots. He knew Miami Rick well: drug kingpin and owner of nearly every nightclub in the area, he was one of the Citadel's most famous, influential and wealthy Rick._

_« How is it possible that you all are not able to arrest him? There will be millions of evidence against him, you probably don't try your hardest », he put the safety on the service pistol and put it in the holster, on the right side._

_« Are you really that arrogant, rookie? If you think it's so easy to arrest Miami Rick, why don't you go to the sergeant and ask for have his case? »._

_« You know what? I will do it. Give me a couple of months and I'll put that bastard behind bars with my own hands »._

Rick roused himself from that memory, finishing the glass of scotch in front of him with a sense of frustration that had been with him for months. Exactly twenty-seven months.

It had been more than two years since he entered service and it was more than two years that he had been on the trail of Miami. He did not remember with what cheek and courage, on his first day on duty, he had gone to ask the Sergeant to assign him the Miami case, but he remembered well his mocking laugh.

“ _Do you really want to openly go against Miami? Well, newbie, the case is yours_ ”.

Over time he had discovered that this Rick was absolutely untouchable, having excellent lawyers and plenty of connections in and out of the Citadel. In two years he had managed to frame him several times, yet the bastard always found a way to get out clean. All that time spent trying to arrest him had given him gastritis.

He raised an arm to attract the bartender's attention to have his glass refilled, barely turning his gaze to his colleagues, who were happily celebrating their promotion after closing an important case. Sitting next to him was his partner, as usual he did not speak to him, but only angry looks. He understood what he wanted to tell him before he even spoke.

« No, I'm not going to report them, if that's what you want to know », he said, taking a sip from the glass again full of scotch. His partner, a short-haired Rick, raised his unibrow, pretending to be surprised.

« Not because they don't deserve it – he continued, taking another sip – but because I don't have enough evidence », he concluded, emptying his glass and asking for more. That night he wasn't regulating himself with alcohol. How much had he drunk already? His head was starting to spin and his mood was getting worse. His partner rose from the stool, approaching him with an angry, hurt look, as always. They had never gotten along, but recently their relationship had gotten even worse, if possible.

« You have no evidence because there is none. J45 and K997 want to see you dead, you ruined their career for your fucking ideals! You want to put yourself even against- », but he did not finish his speech, all growling between his teeth and in a low voice so as not to be heard by the others, the music of that club was not so loud as to cover their voices. Rick jumped to his feet as well, facing his partner.

« Fucking ideals? You know, _you know_ , they take bribes to hide evidence and cover up criminals! If you can live knowing the filth they do, it's not my fucking business, Rick – he squeezed the glass full again between his fingers, hearing the glass creak that threatened to break – but I don't accept it. My job is to enforce the law and it should be yours too », he growled in turn, his voice hoarse from alcohol. The short-haired Rick looked at him indignantly, struck by those words.

« How many times have I already told you? Putting yourself against your colleagues is a dick move, be like... try to look away, okay? », the agent tried to reach out to Rick, in an attempt at reconciliation he had tried so many times that they could not be counted. Rick dodged it, looking back at the counter with a bitter smile, fixing his eyes on the dozens of alcohol bottles behind the busy bartender.

« Be like who, Rick? Like _you_? I can't do it, I'm not like you », he concluded taking another sip of alcohol. That night he was not giving himself any limits. He turned back to his colleague, who was looking at him angrily without knowing what to answer.

« Two years of investigation, Rick. Two years of sacrifice in which I lost everything to make Miami rot in jail. How many times have we been close to framing him? And how many times have the witnesses disappeared, or the testimonies were magically forgotten, or the evidence disappeared into thin air – he bit the inside of his cheeks to contain himself, feeling his stomach twist with anger – and I should look the other way? », he gave him a final look full of anger and frustration, before draining the scotch with a sip and getting up to go away, pissed off, drunk and with a burning stomach. He didn't even hear the answer his partner yelled after him, he just wanted to go home.

_Fucking ideals_ … no, he wasn't the one who had the wrong ideals. He wasn't the one wrong in still believing in the law, still believing in justice. Several times he had managed to put the handcuffs on Miami, and each time the drug kingpin had come out clean. When it came to legal quibbles or handsomely paid bail, he didn't care, it was part of the challenge, it made it all the more fun and exciting, but as evidence and witnesses began to disappear, he began to get suspicious and secretly investigate his own colleague, discovering that some were bribed by Miami itself or its cheap henchmen. He hadn't slept for weeks when he found it out.

Betrayed by his colleagues, his friends... and his partner wanted to lecturim him.

He had arrived at the bus stop without even realizing it, sitting down heavily on the bench, resting his elbows on his knees and sinking his hands into his hair, tired, surrendered. Maybe it was time to ask the Sergeant to take the case off him. It would have been humiliating to admit that he had failed, but he could have devoted his efforts and enthusiasm, which were now a distant memory, into something that would give him more satisfaction.

He looked up, hearing the bus engine approaching, and in the instant before the bus stopped in front of him, he saw a Rick selling drugs to two Mortys in the alley opposite. He could barely make out that the two boys both had tattooed faces before he saw them run away.

His conscience and his sense of justice screamed inside him, ordering him to intervene and arrest that Rick, who turned to him and winked in his direction, before disappearing into the shadow of the alley.

« What are you doing, get in or not? », the driver Rick's voice caught his attention. He cast a last glance at the dark and now deserted alley before climbing resigned and with a low face.

Arresting this cheap criminal wouldn't give him any satisfaction, he was now drunk, tired and off duty and just wanted to go home.

And once home, he tossed and turned in bed all night, feeling a growing sense of guilt for not having intervened, feeling himself boiling inside with anger as he thought back to his partner's words, feeling corrode with humiliation at having thought of giving up everything, but that seemed like the only solution to find some peace.

He fell asleep when it was almost dawn, the sound of the alarm clock sounded like a jackhammer on his aching head.

_He kept his face down, his body swaying from the jolts of the van in which he was traveling with his colleagues. They had received a strange, detailed tip about buying and selling exotic Mortys at a famous Citadel club. It was his first official assignment, he was excited and a little agitated, but confident._

_When the tailgate of the van opened he felt ready, positioning himself outside the club in total silence, following the orders made by his superior, holding the weapon close to his face, ready to aim it as soon as he was ordered. They broke in and it was just chaos, screams, Ricks trying to escape, green portals opening and closing, Mortys running around. He remembered one in particular, he had cat ears and a beautiful curvy tail, and he clung with all his strength to a cop, crying and begging him to take him away from there. That frightened look would never forget it._

_His first mission had been a success, few were the Ricks who had managed to escape in time and he never expected that on that occasion he would have met Miami Rick for the first time. That place didn't belong to him and it was strange that it was there._

_He sat at the bar as if nothing had happened, drinking totally disinterested in the chaos that surrounded him, with a curious satisfied smile on his face. If Rick had been a little more experienced, if he hadn't followed his instinct to approach him, if he hadn't been blinded by the desire to arrest him, he would have realized how **anomalous** his behavior was. He would have wondered why none of his colleagues had approached him to ask him questions, to put handcuffs on him. Instead he walked up to him confidently, pointing the gun at his back._

_« Hands up clearly visible, Sanchez », he said in an audible voice. Miami raised his sunglasses – despite being in an indoor club – and turned to the agent with his hands raised, with a slightly satisfied smile. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment, before Miami reached over to the counter to grab his glass, with the half finished liquor._

_« Don't move! », Rick snarled, loading his gun. Miami took a sip, challenging him with his eyes._

_« Do you want to arrest me, officer? Do you want to arrest the person who called you? I did the tip. Want a sip? », he handed him the glass he had just drunk from, but Rick had remained motionless on the spot, incredulous. Was it really he who had called them?_

_« Why? », he asked, unable to hold back that question. Was it possible that Miami had taken the side of the police? He couldn't believe it, it was absurd._

_« Because, obviously, the deal didn't suit me », Miami put down the glass that Rick hadn't taken and lit a cigarette, totally at ease in that situation. Rick shivered with rage. Was that a confession? He sprinted forward, nervous, but secretly happy to be about to arrest the one who had always escaped every investigation, every arrest. It had only taken him fifteen days. He could already imagine his colleague's face when he would tell him. He grabbed Rick's wrist in the pink jacket and twisted it over his shoulder, dropping the still burning cigarette to the floor._

_« You are under arrest… », he growled, grabbing Miami's other wrist and handcuffing his hands behind his back. He continued to rattle off all his rights from memory as he walked him to a squad car, pushing him inside. Miami was silent the whole time, speaking only once sitting in the police car._

_« See you in court in the morning, officer », he winked at him and Rick slammed the door in his face. He was so happy that he didn't even feel the need to answer him._

_It happened that the next morning Miami did not appear in court, because there was no trial against him. There was no evidence of his involvement in the sale of exotic Mortys, other than the word of a stupid recruit who had dared to handcuff the person who had helped the police in that operation which was one of the biggest carried out, with the arrest of numerous Ricks and the release of as many Mortys._

_Humiliated and pissed off at himself, Rick came out of the barracks to enter service and found a pink convertible vintage car waiting for him in the street, inside a Rick with a jacket in the same color as the car and sunglasses on his forhead. Miami winked in his direction, greeting him with a nod of the head and a seductive smile._

_« Try again, officer », he told him and then he fast drifted away, leaving Rick with a low mood and a strange feeling in his stomach._

The water from the shower flowed warm and pleasant on Rick's tired body, who was mechanically soaping himself, lost in his thoughts.

“ _Try again,_ _officer”_. How many times had he repeated it to him in two years? Whenever he was one step away from arrest him, even when he managed to handcuff him, in the end between the two of them it always ended with that sentence. And he tried again, always, with passion for his work, with hatred towards that criminal, but now he was really exhausted. He ignored the erection between his legs, turning off the water and putting on his bathrobe, heading to the kitchen to have a quick breakfast and prepare the documents to request the replacement of the case.

With nearly burnt toast between his lips, he sat down at the table, pen clutched in his fist and a pre-printed sheet of his barracks, stamped with the Citadel weapon and immediately below that of his department. He would have given up, he would have thrown in the towel.

The bread between his lips was starting to get too wet, despite being hard and scorched, but he kept staring at the paper. He was really giving up.

He took a deep breath and began to fill out the request, point by point, feeling the weight in his chest instead of getting lighter it got heavier. Was he really giving up? Yes, he just had to sign and it would all be over. He would be dedicated to something more rewarding, that didn't make him feel like a failure every day, that didn't turn him against his colleagues, that didn't make him alone.

He closed his eyes and immediately, as has always happened in recent times, he imagined against his closed lids the face of Miami, his gaze that each time challenged him, but at the same time was full of expectation. He almost seemed to hear his voice.

“ _Try again,_ _officer”_.

With a growing sense of nausea, he tore the sheet off in anger, tossing the munched toast onto the table, unable to swallow another bite.

He would try again and succeed, he could not let him win like this.

« D49K, the boss wants to talk to you ».

Starting the work day with that phrase was not a good omen, because when the Sergeant called someone in his office, it was never to give good news.

Rick took his time before going to his boss, but things to do were not enough and the time to deal with the problem came too quickly.

He knocked on the office door, on which a golden plate indicated the name and dimension of the Sergeant, and waited for his superior's permission before entering and saluting.

« Sit down, D49K », ordered the Sergeant, also sitting behind the desk: his hair was short and shaved to the side and the beard was perfectly trimmed. He stopped smoking the cigar he had between his teeth and placed it on the ashtray before speaking.

« I wanted to warn you that by next week you will have a new partner. B67 has just presented me the request for transfer to another department ».

« What? », was the only thing he was able to say at that moment. The Sergeant looked at him in astonished, taking a set of sheets already prepared on his desk.

« Didn't he tell you? That's weird... ».

Rick wanted so much to ask for explanations, he wanted to scream, overturn the desk, but he remained motionless. He just nodded, to let his boss understand that he was listening.

He felt empty, with a light head, as if he were underwater.

He had never gotten along with his partner and indeed, recently their relationship had become one of pure contempt, but he didn't think he would go that far. He felt a hypocrite to feel so hurt by that choice, as he was about to do the same thing that morning. Only he had changed his mind. He had stayed.

« … so if you have preferences you can make request, you have two days to decide ».

Rick blinked a couple of times. Immersed in his thoughts as he was, he had lost the words of the Sergeant, who was handing him some forms. Rick took them without even looking at them, thanking him in a low voice and putting them in his pocket automatically, almost without realizing it.

He waited to be dismissed by his superior, before exiting his office and closing the door behind him, walking quickly through the corridors of the barracks, looking for his now ex-partner.

He found him in his office packing his things in silence, with a frowning expression. Whether he was angry or worried, he couldn't tell, but he didn't notice Rick watching him with his arms crossed, leaning against the door jamb.

« How long have you decided to leave? ».

The short-haired Rick looked up sharply, a full box in his arms. He couldn't bear Rick's searching, hurt gaze, who was clenching his fists to contain his anger.

« Since last night », he answered dryly, placing the box on the desk and starting to empty the drawers. Actually they were already empty, but he opened and closed them pretending to check just so he could have something to do and not look his colleague in the eye.

« Why? », Rick's voice was low, almost a whisper. The colleague kept moving objects and arranging boxes, without raising his face.

« Because the salary is better, the job is safer... for a thousand reasons Rick, I can't stay here and list them all », he finally looked up and crossed it with Rick's, who still had his arms crossed. In his ex-partner's eyes, the cop read fear, guilt, and something he couldn't quite define.

« Don't list a thousand reasons to me, just tell me one, maybe the true one ».

A strange, electric silence fell between the two. The short-haired Rick seemed to be thinking fast, his eyes darting around the room.

« And look me in the eye as you tell it to me ».

« Do you want the truth, Rick? Is that what you want? Well! – he slammed his hand against the desk, knocking over a pile of books – For two years I tried to make you understand that you were doing bullshit! You went up against Miami as if he were an ordinary thief Morty, risking your skin multiple times! », he spoke so quickly that he spat saliva, his eyes almost bulging with anger, as if he were throwing up everything he had kept inside all that time, without giving Rick time to reply.

« I tried in every way to make you desist from the investigation, but you didn't! You wanted to do everything on your own! And you dar- – he put a hand to his mouth, looking over the office door, over Rick's shoulder, resuming speaking in a low voice, growling through his teeth – you dared to secretly investigate our friends and colleagues! How could you make fired- ».

Rick entered the room pushing his partner away to shut him up. Although he lowered his voice, he didn't want to risk anyone hearing them. Inside himself, he was still grateful that his former partner hadn't betrayed him, despite his anger. They fought a little, Rick to shut his mouth and the other to free himself, in the end, out of breath and angry with each other, they parted, out of breath.

« Miami screwed your brain, Rick. You are alone and you have nothing to lose, I have my Morty at home to take care of, I don't want them to hurt him », panted the short-haired Rick, grabbing the box he had left on his desk and walking past Rick, who followed him with his eyes, elaborating those words. Yes, he was alone, he had married his job, he had given up everything for what was now his personal cause. And he had never been more alone than then.

He turned to look at him and spoke in a low voice, a bitter smile on his face curled the corner of his lips.

« How much did he pay you? ».

The colleague stopped at the door, as if frozen. He just turned his face, looking his ex-partner in the eye for what seemed like an infinite moment, with a contempt and a saddness that Rick had never seen him.

« Do you want to report me too, Rick? ».


End file.
